


in you I feel so dirty, in you I taste god

by janie_tangerine



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Banned Together Bingo, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Femdom, Older Woman/Younger Man, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Season/Series 02 Finale, Verbal Humiliation, Wedding Night, Weddings, Woman on Top, porn with pseudo-fluff considering these two's standards???, rich people with trauma and whichever moral compass? you bet, roman roy's humiliation kink thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26052769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: “And what would your plan be, if I were to agree to this madness?”Roman shrugs again, smiling ever so slightly. “Well. We get out of here as soon as everyone goes to sleep or we slip out of the ship very quietly and very calmly the moment we’re back on land, which will happen soon if I know my father, get one of the jets to Vegas, find the least disreputable wedding venue available and do it the moment we land -- you can book the venue online. I guess we can just pay off the first two people we find there to be witnesses unless the jet staff wants to -- I could promise them a nice rise for that. Would be nonsensical for either of us to give up our last names --”“I’m not taking your last name,” Gerri interrupts it.“Still haven’t refused to marry me,” Roman winks. Fuck. Fuck, he really got her, hasn’t he?Or: in which they do get married after all.
Relationships: Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 56
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020





	in you I feel so dirty, in you I taste god

**Author's Note:**

> aaaand have my second succession entry for my banned together bingo square _glamorous criminals_ \- I mean... THOSE PEOPLE ARE BASICALLY 1% SHARKS WHO COMMITTED CRIMES since day one so *shrug* anyway hello this fic was the confirmation my humiliation kink skills are what they are ie not that great (also many thanks to ao3 user totemundtabu for helping me out with this xD) but hey I tried in honor of canon age gap with the femdom mainstream tv needed and got ;) the title is from smashing pumpkins, nothing belongs to me as usual and those were both planned entries for this fandom, hopefully having branched out will get me moving on the rest >> *drops and saunters back downwards*

“I think your brother _has_ put a dent in your plans,” Gerri says as Roman locks the cabin’s door -- she can hear movement downstairs. Of course she can. She’s not sure someone won’t get thrown overboard before sunset, at this point, but at this point she’ll take hoping that no one will notice that they slipped away for a while.

A _long_ while.

“Maybe,” Roman agrees, though he doesn’t seem too heartbroken about it. Then again, Gerri supposes, Kendall has done a thing _all_ of his siblings might have dreamed of doing at some point. Of course he wouldn’t seem heartbroken about it. “And concerning this one matter, I _really_ think we should get married.”

_That_ , Gerri thinks, actually sounded like he was looking forward to it.

“Sorry? I thought -”

“First of all, I was entirely serious when I proposed the first time. But other than that, _please_ , it’s the smartest thing we could do right now.”

“Is it,” Gerri _doesn’t_ protest, because actually -- _actually_ , beyond the first moment of surprise, if she thinks about it… it’s not _unreasonable_ , but she needs to know if he thinks it’s the smartest thing they could do for the same reasons _she_ thinks it might not be the worst decision they could take right now.

“Well, think about it,” Roman says, shoving his hands inside his pockets, looking at her and then looking down before his eyes find hers again. “The moment this entire circus gets started, there’s no fucking way _both_ of us don’t get questioned, and while _I_ actually don’t know half of the details, _you_ kind of actually fucking do, and everyone knows we’ve been working together lately, so -- if we get married, neither of us can testify against the other, so _that_ means one very huge hassle out of the way. Also, let’s say we do it now -- who would protest if we were to disappear to the Maldives or wherever the fuck we want while we wait for shit to go down? I certainly _don’t_ want to be in my brother’s way while he does the right thing and _you_ don’t need to be there for it -- after all, at this point it’s not even about the company, it’s about those two trying to take each other out.”

“They _will_ need legal advice,” Gerri says, because there is _no way_ she’ll be left out of this either way it goes.

“What’s Zoom for, anyway?” Roman shrugs. “Also, you haven’t said no once, mole woman.”

It’s --

Shit. It’s true. She _hasn’t_.

“And what would your plan be, _if_ I were to agree to this madness?”

Roman shrugs again, smiling ever so slightly. “Well. We get out of here as soon as everyone goes to sleep or we slip out of the ship very quietly and very calmly the moment we’re back on land, which will happen soon if I know my father, get one of the jets to Vegas, find the least disreputable wedding venue available and do it the moment we land -- you can book the venue online. I _guess_ we can just pay off the first two people we find there to be witnesses unless the jet staff wants to -- I _could_ promise them a nice rise for that. Would be nonsensical for either of us to give up our last names --”

“I’m _not_ taking your last name,” Gerri interrupts it.

“Still haven’t refused to marry me,” Roman winks. Fuck. _Fuck_ , he really got her, hasn’t he? “Anyway, I was saying, we can just make it double for the both of us so it sends the right message and so on, and it’s going to barely even make the news considering that Kendall has all the spotlight on him. Then we fuck off to the Maldives or Puerto Rico or whatever else would take a while for any of them to force us to come back, we’re in honeymoon, we’re out of this mess and before the FBI or whoever reaches us, it’s going to be a while and we’ll have planned the next moves. Don’t tell me that you really want to be here for the fallout, because sure as hell _I_ don’t.”

She should say no. It’s all good on paper, but it’s going to be a disaster if they actually do it, and at that point she should just hope that Kendall _does_ win his battle because Logan would have her head, _except_ \--

Except that it’s not actually a bad idea. It _all_ makes sense, and if neither of them could testify against the other, things would be indeed easier, and if both of them were out of reach of anyone who’s going to look into the cruises --

Fuck.

_Fuck_ , he’s right, and it was actually exceedingly smart thinking, not that she’s surprised because he _absolutely_ can do smart thinking when he’s not actively trying to self-destruct or to prove something to his father when it’s obvious that he’s not going to be impressed either way.

It’s… actually a _solid_ plan. The catch is that she knows that while it is and he knows, from the way he’s looking at her she’s pretty sure that he actually does _want_ it, and -- part of her wonders if she _really_ wants to be tied to this family up to this point.

Then she realizes that it’s a damned moot question -- she’s _already_ in deep with them, and she hasn’t helped up cover dubiously legal matters for years nor kept the company afloat regardless of how it implied giving up a _lot_ of morality -- to the point where she barely even knows where her moral compass lands these days -- for nothing. If the ship sails she’s sailing with it, if not… she’s most likely going down with it either way.

And fuck it to hell and back, she _does_ like him. She’s not too sure of how or _why_ it happened, but --

But she does.

_Fuck_.

Well, it’s not like she has nothing to lose.

“Fine,” she says, “but _you_ pay for the license.”

“Oh, excell - wait, you really --”

“Sometimes,” she says, slowly, “you _do_ have good ideas, _rock star_.”

She doesn’t miss how Roman’s throat constricts as he swallows and nods at her, eyes going slightly wider, cheeks slightly flushing.

“I, uh, I’ll go set things up then. Maybe distract the others downstairs?”

“I can do that,” she nods, and heads down as Roman takes out his phone.

She wishes she knew what she’s just got herself into.

She supposes she’ll find out.

***

As predicted, they land the following night, eager as Logan is to get back to New York, but it’s impossible to get there overnight, so they pay for a hotel room.

They both leave their rooms when everyone else is asleep, rent a car, drive to where Roman has arranged one of the smaller family jets to land and are in Vegas hours later.

Roman actually _does_ pay the first two people he finds at the bar nearest to the license registration office to witness the wedding -- they end up at what has to be the only venue in Vegas that’s not exceedingly flashy that also sells the rings with the package Roman had purchased.

“I’ll get you a nicer one when this shitstorm’s over,” he tells her as they leave the building.

Their current rings are a simple rose gold band. Gerri thinks she likes it -- it’s a lot less flashy than her engagement diamond ring that she used to wear what feels like a life ago.

“I think I like this one,” she says. “And I hope you also booked a room somewhere. I’m not spending my second wedding night on a jet.”

“I could _never_ ,” he mock-answers before sliding back into the Uber they took to get to the venue from the airport.

***

Gerri’s first wedding night had been spent in the Carlton hotel courtesy of Waystar Royco -- the week-long honeymoon had been paid by the company with Logan blessing the choice, and she never quite missed a _proper_ honeymoon outside the country. She never actually _thought_ about it. She had certainly enjoyed the grandeur and the silken sheets on the bed, and she had been a lot younger, and she --

Well.

She certainly hadn’t been in charge of what had happened behind closed doors _on_ those silken sheets, and as much as she loved her late husband, sex was not the only reason they worked together as a couple. It had been _good_ , mind it, most times, but never _great_ and she always enjoyed it, but not to the point where she had wanted to spend her entire first wedding night not sleeping.

Gerri’s second wedding night is spent in a Vegas Holiday Inn that costs a fraction of what the Carlton used to, but Roman had made the exceedingly good point that no one would have looked for _them_ in a Holiday Inn, had they bothered to check. The sheets are cotton and they had to pay extra for breakfast tomorrow, but the room is clean and the bed is comfortable, which is a good thing as _she_ is the only one out of the two of them who’s actually sitting on it.

“Look at you,” she says, staring down at Roman who is _not_ looking at her, “what would your father think if he saw you like _this_?”

The hand Roman had on his dick already spasms before he starts jerking himself off just a bit faster than he had been until now.

“Your wedding night and you’re not even on the bed, hm? Going to stay on the floor? Like _the dog_ you are? At least you know your place.”

Roman _whines_ while he picks up the pace some more. Fuck. Gerri can see he’s hard behind those designer trousers of his, she can see it very well, and -- well.

_Well_.

“Take it out,” she says, and Roman stops moving. He doesn’t pull his dick out of his underwear, but he doesn’t even say no.

“I said, _take it out_ ,” she presses, “What? Do you think I haven’t seen one before? DThat your sorry excuse for a dick is special? _Please_. As if. Show it to me. Take it out and come right there on the floor _where you belong_.”

“Fuck,” Roman mutters under his breath, “fuck, _yes_ ,” and then he does shove down his trousers and underwear, pulling his dick out -- oh, but he _is_ hard, and leaking all over his hand, and if Gerri thinks _she_ somehow did this while pretty much winging it since they started _whatever this is_ \--

She’s not going to let it go to her head.

“Finally,” she says, dismissively. “Now get on with it. How long can it take you, hm? Can’t even get yourself off? Filthy little bitch like you, shouldn’t be wasting my time staring as he pets his sorry dick hours. Just stain the floor with your useless come already.”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he says again, and -- and then he jerks himself off faster and _faster_ until he spills all over the floor and for a moment Gerri feels thankful that there are tiles underneath and they didn’t stain a carpet or anything that might get them noticed, but then he looks up at her and he has wide eyes and very, very flushed cheeks, and she doesn’t think _anyone_ has ever looked at her like that, and she can feel that her own underwear is soaked, and -- until now she has usually brought herself off with her fingers while he did finished himself off behind the door, but now --

_Now_ \--

She had put on a pair of pajamas already, good because the skirt she had on before would have been entirely less comfortable to get off.

“Get here,” she says, “I never said you could walk.”

He _groans_ as he crawls over in between her legs just after she pulls off her silken trousers and underwear and carefully moves them on the bed. He definitely put a knee over the come stain on the floor. _Fuck_ , Gerri can’t remember the last time she was this wet. Maybe she should think about this a bit more.

_Maybe_.

But it feels like the worst course of action at the moment, and so she spreads her legs instead.

“What the hell are you waiting for?” She asks. “Get _me_ off already.”

She waits for him to move his head in between her legs before she grabs the back of it and _pushes_ , and she can _feel_ him whining against her cunt before his tongue starts desperately licking around her clit, fast and almost desperate, and she lets him get a feeling -- after all, it’s not like he ever got as far as touching _her_ anywhere -- but keeps a hand on his hair, tugging once in a while, _hard_ , and by the time she’s writhing and trying to not moan too hard as he sucks at her clit he’s trying to get friction on her ankle, his cock rubbing against it, and _oh_ he’s hard again, isn’t he --

“Maybe,” she says, “if you manage to make me come, I could let you use my feet. I don’t think you deserve my fingers,” I could let you use my feet. Rub on them to get yourself off. Sure as hell you don’t deserve my fingers,” she goes on, and from the way he jerks against her she knows she’s said the right thing -- his tongue runs against her clit again and _again_ , and _fuck_ she’s close, she can feel it, and it’s been a long time since anyone did this to her and it’s nowhere near the same as the last time it happened, and when she moves her foot on his dick and he whines against her cunt she _knows_ she won’t manage to _not_ come for much longer.

“Not like you’ve done anything to deserve it,” she goes on, “but I’ll be generous, seen how pathetic you are… do me well, prove yourself decent enough not to be a total waste of my time.”

She hopes her voice stood steady as she said it. Then he runs his tongue against her folds _again_ and she’s off, her legs trembling as he tries to lick her clean _as_ she’s still coming, and by the time she’s breathing in and opening her eyes again after her entire frame stops shaking he’s still running his tongue under her clit and around it like he won’t rest if he doesn’t do it thoroughly.

“Now if only you put all that effort on the job,” she sighs, and then pushes her foot on his dick a bit harder -- he jerks towards her, searching for its touch, and fucking hell he still has his mouth on her clit. “Come on, do you think I have nothing better to do than stare at you humping my leg like a dog? Can you even get off without me, hm? Would you stay hard all night? Pathetic and hard with that small dick of yours desperate for attention and craving to lick me?”

Roman moans around her clit just as he starts rubbing himself against the sole of her foot, and it’s maybe a bit awkward since his hands are grasping at her hips under the top of the silken pajama she hadn’t taken off, but he _does_ get a rhythm and it’s not as if he’s going to last long -- he goes still for a moment just as she feels him leaking all over her foot, and then she pushes _down_ and then he’s coming halfway against her skin and halfway on the floor, and before she can say anything he moves back, leans down and --

Licks his own come off her foot, _damn it all_ , and when he pulls on his hair harder he moans around her toes and Gerri has no idea of how they ended up _here_ but fucking hell she’s not regretting it, not really, and by the time he’s done, she feels more lightheaded than she can remember being in _years_.

She doesn’t tell him that he did well or anything of the kind, she’s pretty sure _that_ ’s not what gets him off --

Except that after she comes out of the bathroom (nice shower, decent for Holiday Inns at the end of it) he’s… still kneeling on the floor, back resting against the foot of the bed, trousers completely discarded, and he doesn’t move even when she sits on the bed.

“What are you even doing down there?” She asks, figuring that whatever it is they were doing is… well. Finished. For now.

He shrugs. “Isn’t it where I should stay?”

He sounds -- she doesn’t know how he sounds. Like on one side he genuinely thinks it’s a good idea and like he _does_ want it… but not _right now_ , maybe, because that question honestly sounded like some kind of test.

She thinks she _did_ hear some weird stories about his childhood that didn’t sound quite right.

She doesn’t know if she’ll ever ask.

She does know _something_ , though.

“It’s my damned wedding night,” she says, “I don’t want to spend it here alone. And I never said _that’s_ where you should stay outside -- _whatever_. Get up here already.”

He does, slowly, moving under the covers with only his shirt on.

She barely even knows what the _fuck_ she’s doing when she holds the hand he puts on the mattress in between them before closing his eyes as if he’s going to sleep and he doesn’t care what she does with it either way.

She sees his shoulders relax a fraction the moment she does.

She has no fucking clue what _they’re_ doing.

But fuck her sideways, it’s not… _weird_ or bad or anything of the kind.

It’s also been more than three hours and she’s fairly sure she doesn’t regret marrying him.

Logan will most likely have her head.

Gerri finds herself thinking that she really, really can’t care less.

End.


End file.
